


The Love Lost Between Us

by itsallwineglasses



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (but it's Ana so we know she's not really dead), Angst, Canonically Presumed Character Death, M/M, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Relationship Decay, Relationship breakdown, they’re both hurting and neither of them is handling it particularly well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallwineglasses/pseuds/itsallwineglasses
Summary: Jack and Gabriel have been drifting apart by slow degrees for years, but it isn’t until Ana dies that Gabriel realises how great the distance between them has become.“Sometimes change is honest; it comes as a sudden, sharp shock, upfront in its abruptness so you can’t miss the moment when the world shifts under you. And sometimes it’s insidious; it creeps in so subtly that you don’t know what’s happened until it’s already over, when you look up and find yourself lost.It’s the latter, here, in an office that feels more like a statement than a workspace as Gabriel tries to find some shred of Jack in the impassive Strike Commander.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Reaper76 Week Day 1 - History/Decay, and brought across from [my tumblr](https://itsallwineglasses.tumblr.com/post/155890159076/the-love-lost-between-us)
> 
> Did you know that the saying 'no love lost between them' used to have an alternate meaning where it indicated strong feelings of love? Up until a few hundred years ago it could be used to refer to the longer phrase; "No love between these two was lost, each was to the other kind."

 

They used to grieve together.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes change is honest; it comes as a sudden, sharp shock, upfront in its abruptness so you can’t miss the moment when the world shifts under you. And sometimes it’s insidious; it creeps in so subtly that you don’t know what’s happened until it’s already over, when you look up and find yourself lost.

It’s the latter, here, in an office that feels more like a statement than a workspace as Gabriel tries to find some shred of _Jack_ in the impassive Strike Commander.

Ana’s been dead for seven hours. Gabriel didn’t even know until fifteen minutes ago, when his computer pinged a message from Strike Commander Morrison with the report attached.

The report had been succinct, barely more than a list of facts: that there had been no body to find when retrieval had gone in, just a lot of blood and fragments of her cybernetic eye as proof that the bullet had pieced her skull. Speculation that Talon had taken her body. Gabriel hadn’t been able to read the speculation about what they’d taken her body _for_. He’d had to step away.

Had to walk away. He’d moved though the base in a haze. Everything was muted, unreal, like looking at a reflection of the world in a still lake and knowing that it would ripple apart if he touched it.

It isn’t until the door has clicked shut behind him and Jack looks up from the tablet on his desk that Gabriel realises where his feet have taken him.

“Reyes? What are you doing here?” Jack says.

It hits him like a punch, that Jack even has to ask that. Ana’s _dead_ , of course he’s here.

They grieve together. Always have, for decades. When they’d lost friends from the SEP in the Crisis, when the omnics had swept through Indiana and razed the Morrison farm, hell, even when Jesse had decided to put Blackwatch in his rear-view mirror; the guiding constant, every time, was that they faced these blows together. There’s nothing lonelier than loss, and they grieve together so at least they aren’t alone. When the fear that everything will be ripped out of their hands overwhelms at least they can hold each other. A lot of the little rituals he and Jack shared have fallen by the wayside, but not this one. He’s floundering without it.

Gabriel is a grown man wishing for a hug, and he feels ridiculous, and he hates that he feels ridiculous because he never has before. Not about this. Not with Jack.

He walks to the chair on his side of the desk and grips the top of the backrest, his fingers digging into the plush material. He doesn’t sit. Jack doesn’t stand.

“Ana’s dead.” Gabriel says. “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s in the report.”

“You were there, I want to hear it from you.”

Jack runs a hand roughly through his hair, and there’s strain written into every line in his face. “She didn’t listen to me when I told her to evacuate. She turned off her com and went after Talon’s sniper. Who turned out to be Amélie Lacroix.”

Gabriel bites back the kneejerk reaction to say that’s impossible because Amélie is dead, since she obviously isn’t.

 “Never thought there’d be a sniper that could get the better of her.” Gabriel drops heavily into the chair he’s been standing behind.

He tries to think of something he can say that will make Ana’s passing easier on both of them. Not ‘I’m sorry’, because there’s no point in apologising for something you’re not responsible for, and apologies never help in times like this. He can’t think of anything else, though. Jack interrupts his searching.

“Why are you here, Gabe?” Jack says tiredly. “Because if it’s to advocate yourself as a replacement second in command, now’s not really a great time for it.”

Shock rocks him and he snaps out, “ _What_? Do you honestly think I would – what, make a jump for Ana’s seat before her body’s even cold?”

Does Jack really think that little of him? The cold stare Jack levels him says that yes, he does.

“You’ve been making a lot of noise about how you’d make a better Strike Commander. It would be a step closer to what you’re aiming for.” Jack says.

That’s true, but how Morrison could think that’s what’s on his mind right now he has no fucking idea. “She was my friend too! Maybe, just fucking maybe, I give a shit that she’s dead.”

Just as quickly as it had flared up his anger drains away, a flame guttered by exhaustion. He takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out. He doesn’t want to fight. Not now.

Gabriel knows what’s going on here. Jack deals with pain by retreating. Jack’s learnt the lesson that bearing your wounds to some gives them as much opportunity to carve them deeper as sooth them. Learnt it too well; he pulls the role he’s expected to play around himself like armour when he’s hurt, would rather let the wounds fester unseen than risk having his vulnerability used against him.

Gabriel just needs to calm down for a moment and gentle him out. He wants to. It helps him just as much, looking after Jack. Helps him feel like he can still protect something. 

He wants, desperately, to be able to turn to Ana. To be able to bitch to her about this, _you won’t believe how much of an asshole Jack was being this time_. To talk to her. But he can’t. And he needs to talk to _someone_ , and in times like these that’s always been Jack.

“Look, I just wanted to check in and see if you’re okay,” Gabriel says, rubbing a hand across his eyes, “because I’m not.”

Just for a moment, Jack softens. It’s in the way that he holds himself, how he leans slightly forward, one hand on the tabletop like he wants to reach out.

And then Jack startles like he’s catching himself, and the walls come back up. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Gabriel wants to rip him open and claw something real out of him.

“Jack –”

“This isn’t a good time, Gabriel. Really. We can talk later.”

It’s not cold, just dismissive. Gabriel feels lost. Jack’s retreated back behind the Strike Commander mantle, and he has no idea how to reach him anymore. When did this happen?

Jack waves a hand in a ‘there’s the door’ gesture and hunches back down over his tablet. That’s it, apparently. End of conversation.

And fuck it. Why should Gabriel always have to be the one to make the effort? Why should he always have to be the one to reach out? Ana is dead and Jack told him through a fucking _email_ , because god forbid Morrison get out of his own head for thirty seconds and show some consideration for other people.

Rage spills inside Gabriel like a pot boiling over. It’s like opening a floodgate, a wave that sweeps up his most spiteful thoughts and sends them pouring out of his mouth.

“This is your fault.” Gabriel snarls, his chair skittering backwards as he jerks to his feet.

Morrison snaps his head up to look at him, slack jawed and devastated. “Excuse me?”

“It’s your fault she’s dead.”

Jack stands slowly, rallying. He faces Gabriel from across the desk, shoulders squared in his blue commander’s coat, unshakable as a monolith. “Amélie was retrieved by _your_ people. You were the one who signed off on her going home to Gérard.”

“Are you seriously trying to blame me for this?” Gabriel’s voice shakes. With anger, he tells himself.

“I didn’t say I was blaming anyone. I’m just stating facts.” The unspoken _yes_ rings out even through all the bullshit. Jack’s been spending too much time with politicians.

Gabriel can’t tell if Jack really believes that, or if he’s just saying what he knows will hurt the most. He can’t read Jack at all.

 

* * *

 

They used to grieve together.

Gabriel goes back to his own office, lights up his first cigarette in decades, and grieves alone.


End file.
